The Smiling Buddha’s face lost its smile.
But sensing that the cultivator in front of him was at the early stage of the Soul Fusion realm, the smile reappeared on his face.
“Amitabha,” he clasped his hands together, his benevolent eyes lowered as he said, “I presume you are…”
Clang!
A sword beam flew past, and the monk’s head soared high.
Chen Huaian stood straight, holding his sword, as the half-exposed Black Scaled Sword slowly returned to its sheath.
The Smiling Buddha’s body flickered backward, his head reconnecting with his body, still smiling but with an added coldness.
He took a deep breath, bowed politely, and finished his unfinished sentence, “Are you one of the elders from the Sword Pavilion? I am Cold Chanxin, I haven’t heard your name?”
Chen Huaian stepped forward, the Black Scaled Sword half-exposed again.
Clang!
Cold Chanxin reacted, but before he could lift his hand, his body was cleanly sliced into two even halves.
His body restored, the Smiling Buddha’s face turned angry, “Don’t push it too far!”
Clang!
The Black Scaled Sword was drawn out three inches.
Dense sword qi sliced the monk into countless pieces.
Restored again, the Smiling Buddha had stopped smiling.
Standing less than half a meter away from the monk, Chen Huaian sneered, “Try moving again?”
Cold Chanxin’s face twitched, his benevolent appearance twisting into rage, his eyes wide open, face black as ink, red hair like flames sprouting from his head, shouting in anger, “Hatred!”
Boom! A colossal Dharma Image rose from the ground.
Three heads, six arms, each face showing anger, sorrow, or joy, with black faces and fangs.
Each of the six arms held a steel fork, wearing golden armor, with Buddha light shining behind him.
Unlike Zhou Xuanzi’s Dharma Image, Cold Chanxin’s body had merged with the Dharma Image, making him the image and the image him, embodying his Dao. This not only increased his power significantly but also overcame the disadvantage of being vulnerable to attacks after activating the Dharma Image.
This was the true perfection of Dharma Image, a characteristic of Soul Fusion cultivators.
“It is you who forced me to commit such atrocities! Just a mere early-stage Soul Fusion cultivator, do you really think you are anything special!?”
With those words, he raised his six steel forks, stirring up a fierce wind, as if six collapsing pillars were crashing down toward Chen Huaian.
At this moment, Zhou Xuanzi, who had just awakened in front of Luoyan Manor, saw the enormous Dharma Image blocking the sky, turning pale. He hurriedly sent a message to the Smiling Buddha:
“Senior, Luoyan Manor is our Danzong’s foundation, please do not cause trouble here!”
The Dharma Image turned its furious gaze 180 degrees towards Zhou Xuanzi, flames erupting from its eyes as it roared, “What are you, dare to tell me what to do? Get out—!”
The pressure of the Soul Fusion realm fell upon Zhou Xuanzi with the roar, adding to his injuries, causing him to spit blood and fall to his knees.
In the rental house, Chen Huaian smirked, adding more credits. Above the clouds, Chen Huaian opened his eyes, filled with sword aura and indifference, facing the six steel forks.
One step forward, mid-stage Soul Fusion.
Another step forward, late-stage Soul Fusion.
Clang!
The Black Scaled Sword was drawn, falling into his hand.
“Apprentice, today my master is in high spirits, watch as I wield my sword!”
On the flying boat, Li Qingran, worried about her master, her big eyes fixed on the peerless swordsman facing the Dharma Image.
In her heart, that figure standing tall was heaven itself, invincible!
“In May, the snow on Tianshan Mountain is barren, no flowers, only cold!”
Chen Huaian gripped the sword with both hands, the tip pointing to the sky, his aura rising, spiritual energy converging on the Black Scaled Sword, the blade becoming increasingly bright.
Before Luoyan Manor, snow fell from the sky, yet there was no chill.
“Snowing?”
“It’s not the season for snow…”
The cultivators watching the snowfall were astonished.
On the flying boat, Liu Yuanqing caught a flake of snow, feeling a sharp pain in his fingers, his pupils constricting, voice trembling, “This isn’t snow, it’s sword intent… sword intent manifested as snow!”
He gazed up at the sky, unable to see Chen Huaian’s figure.
Only to hear the swordsman above sing:
“From the flute comes the broken willow, spring’s colors unseen.”
The sword rose.
Clang!
A sword beam pierced through the entire sky.
Wherever it passed, the void twisted, the violent sword intent tore apart the clouds for thousands of miles, along with the six steel forks descending.
“You…”
Cold Chanxin was taken aback.
He felt a fatal threat from the tiny figure.
Late-stage Soul Fusion!
This sword cultivator is actually at the late-stage Soul Fusion?!
When did this happen?
His divine ability could see through any hidden cultivation level.
But why couldn’t he see through this person?
“Alert with the drum in battle, sleep hugging the jade saddle.”
Before the Dharma Image, the white-robed swordsman danced.
Every move left a white silhouette, standing, sitting, lying, leaning, holding the sword, or advancing with it.
In a moment, it was like ten thousand troops!
The final strike.
…
Cold Chanxin met the sharp gaze, turning to run.
“Now running? Too late!”
Qinglian Sword Canon’s ninth form – Decapitating Loulan.
The final strike was unparalleled in power.
But to activate the final strike required significant preparation. In game terms, the third segment’s pre-cast time was too long, needing the successful release of the first two segments to activate it.
Cold Chanxin couldn’t withstand the first segment, nor prevent the second.
So, he was going to die.
Chen Huaian held the Black Scaled Sword, pointing it at Cold Chanxin’s Dharma Image.
Behind him, ten thousand troops surged, sword intent rising.
“I will draw my sword beneath my waist, and cut… Loulan!”
Clang!
Ten thousand swords were drawn, their qi soaring to the heavens.
Countless sword beams merged, forming a white beam that instantly caught up with the Dharma Image, piercing through it. The sword qi scattered in an explosion, tearing the Dharma Image to shreds.
Cold Chanxin fell from the sky, covered in sword marks, bloodied, landing in front of Danzong Sect Master Zhou Xuanzi.
Chen Huaian descended through the air, holding his sword, walking to Cold Chanxin.
“Senior, spare me, spare me! I was blinded by my own judgment, truly unintentional…” Cold Chanxin, barely alive, looked at the approaching Chen Huaian, fear gripping his heart.
When did the Sword Pavilion have such a formidable sword elder?
He had never heard of it.
One strike shattered his Dharma Image.
Another tore it to pieces.
Such power… shocking!
“Why, little monk, are you afraid?”
“I’m afraid, I’m afraid…”
“You’re not afraid.” Chen Huaian passed by Cold Chanxin, sneering, “Hmph, you only realized you were about to die.”
Clink!
The Black Scaled Sword returned to its sheath.
A breeze passed.
Cold Chanxin froze, pain tearing through his body, the light in his eyes fading.
The next moment, his body turned to dust.
Tap tap tap—
Zhou Xuanzi knelt in the blood, each step Chen Huaian took making his body tremble, but no matter how much he didn’t want to face it, that person still approached.
Zhou Xuanzi raised his gaze.
The white-haired sword lord smiled kindly, looking almost benevolent.
“Sect Master Zhou, I have a connection with you!”
…
